


We're All Okay

by samtheboyking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samtheboyking/pseuds/samtheboyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a lot to teach Cas after he’s fallen, but one thing is the most important of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're All Okay

It's after three consecutive days of burnt eggs that things change.

Standing at the stove is Cas, back turned to the table and spatula held loosely in his grip. The shirt he has on looks to be one of mine, hanging off his frame and making him appear deceivingly thin, only accentuated by the tired, drawn lines of his face, which I know to be there without having to look. The jeans however have to belong to Dean (I only had one pair left myself), and the belt may have been loaned out by Kevin, finishing off the game of mix and match for laundry day. We haven't gotten around to getting Cas his own clothing yet.

On the table there is already toast buttered and plated, orange juice poured and waiting. These past three days have been simultaneously the most hospitable breakfast service I've ever received and the poorest quality experience, in that Cas hasn't quite yet perfected the art of not letting scrambled eggs get browned on all sides.

Nowadays, Cas is always asking for things to do around the Bunker, ways to help. Trying to keep himself busy- useful. It's why I smile up at him as a plate of eggs is set before me, why I say softly and well-meaning, "Thanks, Cas," even while the flattened expanse of egg is patterned with brown.

Still, you'd think my brother would have finally cut Cas some slack by now,  _especially now_.

"You kidding?" Dean's voice is still sleep rough as he ambles in, eyes still heavy even as he scrutinizes Castiel's culinary attempts. He looks to me. "You really gonna eat  _that_?" Ironic, coming from the metaphorical garbage disposal.

Castiel,  _Cas_ , already has his back turned again, returned to the stove. It's the same routine we've gone through for days, and I send Dean the same face I've been wearing, the ' _You could give him a break, he's trying Dean,_ ' conveyed through a blatant raise of my brows and the thinning line of my mouth. Today differs in the fact that Dean doesn't just plop himself down in his chair to sulk, as per usual.

"Come on- that's hardly edible!"

" _Dean-_ "

"No."

All the while Cas has been cracking and whisking more eggs (Dean's, presumably), hasn't spoken a single word of objection even as Dean has gone off and is now advancing on him. I turn in my seat to watch, fingers curling around the top of my chair, and I'm not exactly sure what I'm expecting my brother to do (berate Cas some more, take over the cooking?), but it isn't for Dean to hook his chin over Cas' shoulder. There's talking, mumbled between the two of them, and something to do with proper stirring techniques I think (' _You gotta keep moving them around, see'_ ) and then Dean is pressing his chest into Castiel's back to watch over his shoulder as he continues to work, up until the burner is clicked off and more eggs are being piled onto my brother's plate.

That's when I get it; somewhere between watching one of Dean's hands drift up tentatively, hovering as if asking a silent question until he finally settles his palm over one of Castiel's hips, and the way they move, gravitating towards one another and moving in tandem. All of the harsh words, complaints, and unfounded criticism- all excuses, every last one. My brother doesn't do things with gentle tones and a soft hand, not when it  _really_  matters, so I shouldn't have expected any different here.

"Good," Dean responds gruffly and his hand falls away as Castiel finishes, passes over his breakfast. He leaves it at that.

 _Huh_. I go back to eating browned eggs in silence.

-x-

The eggs turn out to be just the first in a long line of incidents, and it only escalates from there. I'd like to say that having decoded my brother's modus operandi (I should have known,  _I should have_ ) gave me some peace of mind, knowing that Dean and Cas should be okay, but when I wake up one morning to yelling from down the hall I'm beginning to have my doubts.

There are only a few select lights on as I crack my bedroom door, my eyes likewise merely peeking open and trying to look past the early morning sleep still clogging my vision. The voice--Dean, I'm quick to discern--is only rising, and there are a few metal bangs to add to the din.

It's Kevin I spot first, or rather he spots me as he walks by, feet picking up their pace and shaking his head to himself. "They're at it again." He looks too wild-eyed and strung out for this early in the morning. "Sam I can't do this, they need to  _stop_."

Before I can even mutter some consoling words Kevin is off, disappearing down the end of the hall. Poor kid has had to acclimate quick to the lifestyle, but he's been keeping his head above water so far, has remained unbelievably level-headed, all things considered. It's still no excuse for Dean and Cas to be having a shouting match at the crack of dawn- though I'd be willing to bet that whatever is going on is one-sided.

Turns out the laundry room is the chosen field of verbal warfare, and it also turns out that I'm right (a frequent occurrence in my experience); Dean is shouting and cursing and in general making exaggerated movements with his hands, and Cas is standing there, taking it, and looking for all intents and purposes like a kicked puppy. It's almost enough for me to want to push through the half opened door and intervene right then and there, because that's hardly fair, Cas not being able to get a word in edgewise, outright refusing to stand up for himself, even if he  _is_  the reason the laundry room floor is covered in a few inches of suds from the overflowing door of the washing machine.

Shifting to the side I keep myself close to the wall, Cas hidden behind the door and Dean standing off to the side, hand still resting at the top of the washer. There's a sigh and it comes from my brother, whose hand falls to his side, and now Dean is the one looking defeated here. I remain outside their field of vision, storing away this interaction along with the others for careful evaluation later.

"You know Cas, if you need help with something, just ask, okay?"

I don't hear any response but Cas must nod, Dean nodding as well. My brother surveys the mess on the floor like he's just now noticing what he's been picking a fight about. "Lets get some towels and clean this up."

-x-

After Dean ends up teaching Cas how to properly scramble eggs and just how much detergent the washer needs  _('See, just the cap, don't fill the whole thing'_ ) things seem to die down. The Bunker is the epitome of peace and quiet, and the four of us go about the business of digging through some of the Men of Letters documents (Kevin and I) and getting lines on what's going on above ground. No one is particularly keen to venture out beyond the mandatory grocery run, and Garth has been our main means of information from the outside, the extent of which has been along the lines of ' _Things are quiet. Too quite.'_ Needless to say no one is rushing to meet up with a couple hundred fallen and pissed angels.

But there's only so long we can hide out, and each passing day the restlessness of our little group becomes increasingly evident. There are plenty of dusted old tomes and documents that need cross-referencing to keep me occupied, and lately Kevin has become more and more agitated, adamant on being left to his own devices, but both Castiel and Dean have resorted to some aimless wandering and gazing off into space.

Eventually, it comes to the point where Cas decides to spend the day with some fresh air and much needed solitude by taking a walk. In the back of my mind there's the slight worry of what could be waiting out there for him, but then again I couldn't have made Cas stay if I'd tried, and he insists that he only intends to walk the perimeter. Besides, some fresh air really would do him good.

However, Dean is of a different opinion, and I'm practically interrogated once he shows his face in the common room (' _Where's Cas?' and 'What do you mean he went for a walk?! By himself?'_ ). That's how my brother storms out, armed to the teeth like he's expecting the entire former Heavenly Host to be out there waiting, despite the consistent lack of activity Garth has been reporting to us. I settle back into my chair and roll my eyes, and I'm sure Kevin is reacting similarly from across the room.

Hardly twenty minutes later they're back, Dean shuffling Cas forward and muttering to himself, door slamming behind. Blood is starting to well up between the clench of Castiel's fingers, held tight against his forearm, and for how worried Dean appeared when he left there's no gentleness in the way he's ushering Cas towards the bathroom now.

I'm out of my seat in a second and trailing them. "What happened?" I watch Dean maneuver Cas to sit on the toilet lid. The lift of his fingers reveal the cut, less urgent for how much blood would suggest, superficial in comparison to what we've dealt with before. Really, just a flesh wound.

"He decided to play around in a pile of scrap metal that's what happened," Dean snaps, and his tone is way uncalled for, doubly so when Cas grates out, though not meeting Dean's eyes, "I'm  _fine_."

"No,  _you're not_." Dean begins the faucet running, rips off a strip of gauze with too much force. "You have to be careful now, you can't just go off without thinking first."

Had Cas still had his Grace, the scowl he fixes on the floor may have very well bored holes into the tile. "I am capable of taking care of myself."

There's a snort from my brother, though his face softens, washcloth wrung out as he steps in front of Cas. "Yeah yeah, just let me clean it, you're gonna get tetanus or something..."

I only remain a handful of minutes after that, watching my brother clean away the blood, dabbing around the reddened and irritated skin, bandaging up Castiel with fingers moving careful and tender and contrary to how he'd been chastising him just a moment ago. Castiel says no more throughout the process, but I could so easily imagine the tiredness in his voice, worn with the telltale cadence of someone who has run out fight.

Dean doesn't speak either, though there's plenty that goes unsaid

-x-

The next time I'm woken by Dean and Castiel it's still the middle of the night, dark as pitch, and the sound that had prompted me to raise my head wearily off my pillow this time was that of hushed whispering and...knocking?

Frankly, I'm surprised I hear it. The source has to be Dean's room, just across the way from my own, but with our doors shut it's usually pretty easy to tune each other out. I only lie on my back at first, eyes gazing up towards the ceiling and gradually adjusting to what little light is leaking beneath the crack of my door, remaining still and anticipating the next jumble of sound heard beyond my room.

There's another knock, like someone hitting the wall, and then after a beat I'm up, legs hoisted over the side of my bed and rubbing the heels of my palms furiously into my eyes. The clock at my nightstand says 3:17 A.M. and I glare back at the numbers. Enough is enough. I'm drawing the line at pre-seven A.M. arguing.

My feet are practically soundless as I pad just a few steps into the hall, halting outside my brother's room. There's weak orange light spilling from beneath his closed door, and for a moment there's absolutely no sound coming from within. I pause, wait, listen and lean further in, because my eyelashes might still be sticking together with sleep but I didn't imagine what I heard, and sure enough, after a brief respite there is more murmuring, the groan of a mattress and another knock of...

And oh.  _Oh_.

I chew the bottom of my lip, torn between staying and running back to the safety of my own room where I can pretend to maintain some level of ignorance, before I know more than I ever wanted to.

My feet have suddenly taken root in the hallway floor.

" _You stupid son of a bitch_."

 _Knock, knock, groan._ I can practically visualize the bang of the headboard.

" _Didn't want- ever want-_ "

" _Dean-_ "

" _You're supposed to be here._ "

It goes quiet again for a moment, and my eyes have snapped wide, every muscle holding me tense and in place, ears open for words that can't be muffled by four walls. I feel a flicker of irrational panic that they're going to pull open the door and find me there, standing in the hallway in my underwear, listening to my brother and our best friend, but I can't leave, not yet. Seconds tick by and I'm straining to hear something, anything to clue me in as to what's happening beyond the door, and then the noise starts up again, no words that I can pick out at first. There's only the soft sounds of bodies moving in simultaneous rhythm, shared breath and strangled noises from the both of them mixing together and blending into one unrecognizable litany of  _Dean_ and  _Cas_ and  _please_ and  _yes, yes, okay, Dean..._

And that's all I need to hear, the breath in my lungs finally releasing and depressing the pressure that had accumulated in my chest. My feet peel away from the floor and I take the few steps back to my own room, the swirling fragments of thought in my mind finally beginning to settle, sleep returning full-force and pulling my jaw wide in a yawn. I crawl back into my bed, huddle beneath the covers and roll over onto my side, one ear pressed into my pillow. Even if I can still hear the faint, obscure noises in the background, I won't bother Dean about it right now. Maybe tomorrow.

 _Yeah_ , I think,  _they'll be just fine._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments/crit appreciated!


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